Is truth really better than fiction?

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Dateless, jobless

The funny thing is, unemployment is pretty fab. I worked bloody hard at home, and never thought I’d last this long (three weeks and counting) in the land of unemployment without going insane. But it’s great! I suddenly have time for all the little things that used to fall by the wayside. Teeth flossing – check! And not just a guilty once-a-month rush job, either. I’ve been doing it every day! Leisurely strolls – check! I am slowly but surely figuring out the confusion that is the streets of London, and getting a little bit less lost every day. Lunchtime wine-drinking – check, check check! I’m blogging under the influence right now – just one mind you – but enough to get the creative juices flowing!

But that’s the rub, isn’t it? The wine fund will eventually run out. And that’s where the need for a job comes back in.

Job hunting is a pretty miserable task. Everything that looks good, you don’t meet the selection criteria. Seriously, some of these agencies want you to speak three languages, have ten years’ experience in origami and be able to whip up a croquembouche in half an hour – all to work as a PA for some shitty company at five bucks an hour.

As I write more and more applications, squeezing in as many buzz-words as I can, the urge is growing to be completely, devastatingly honest. To sell what I can REALLY do as opposed to what they want me to say. What do you reckon they’d make of this?

To whom it may concern,

Just throw those other applications away. I am the girl for the job!

My skills are set out as follows:

I have an excellent memory. I can tell you the name of every celebrity baby born between 1996 and today, including the obscure ones like Louis Bardo and Carys Zeta.

I have a great attention to detail. I can tell you EVERYTHING that annoyed me about the girl I used to work with, including how many times she wore that jacket that I bitched about, but secretly wanted.

I always complete the task at hand. I also always complete the bag of lollies IN my hand, even when it tries to scare me off by claiming it’s ‘family sized’. I am committed!

I am a hard worker. Unless you tell me to run. I really hate running.

I promise to turn up to work, on time, every day, and limit my Facebooking to just once an hour – that’s good right? I will probably bitch about my job to my friends, but let’s be honest – everyone does.